


Lovers' Secrets

by ellerean



Series: Lovers' Secrets [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerean/pseuds/ellerean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Amakata couldn't be certain whether Hazuki was serious about offering her swimsuit-clad body as an incentive, but she chopped him down before the words came out of his mouth.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I swore to myself that I'd never put on a swimsuit again.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But the truth was, sometimes she would.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers' Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> [This artwork](http://letsswimtogethernanase.tumblr.com/post/69910813894) is entirely to blame for even considering this ship at all. But hot damn, I love the prospect of Makoto with an older woman.

Amakata had her reservations. Already the students had started to speculate about her former job, and they were hitting too close to home. _A swimsuit designer_ , Hazuki had said, which was close enough. That would have to be her truth. But Tachibana had leaned in close, excited over the expertise she could provide to their would-be swim club. She backed away slightly, sweating; they were so eager, and she now had a front to upkeep. She knew enough about swimming, after all, to be a faculty advisor. Wasn’t that right?

She watched the boys clean up the pool, leaning back in her lounge chair, blocking the sun with an umbrella. Hazuki had submitted the paperwork; Nanase was the champion swimmer, or so she’d heard. But Tachibana held them together, calming the over-excitable Hazuki and urging unspoken words from Nanase. He had already been elected captain—or thrown into the role unwillingly—and he had a tranquility about him, an affection for his friends that wasn’t often seen in high school boys.

Once, she happened to overhear their recruitment plans. Amakata couldn’t be certain whether Hazuki was serious about offering her swimsuit-clad body as an incentive, but she chopped him down before the words came out of his mouth.

“I swore to myself that I’d never put on a swimsuit again.”

But the truth was, sometimes she would.

As advisor, it was necessary to attend the occasional practice. And practice was brutal once they had four swimmers, dragging in that poor boy who couldn’t actually swim. Amakata sat on the sidelines, conscious of the bikini she wore beneath her clothes. _Never_ was a long time.

Competitive swimming wasn’t in her history, but didn’t she still have the body for a swimsuit? Hazuki had noticed—her loose-fitting clothes weren’t loose enough—but had the others? Had the captain noticed, all those times they’d spoken about official club business after school?

She waited until the team left, waving goodbye as the pool area slowly emptied out. Nanase had been the last, again; Tachibana had to literally pull him out of the water.

“Are you going home, too, Ama-chan?” Tachibana had asked, as Nanase toweled off.

“Soon!” she replied, too chipper. “You should go home, boys. It’s getting late.”

She waited until they were out of sight before shedding her clothes.

The cool night air bit at her skin, and the water was a shock to her system. Amakata closed her eyes underwater, envisioning the way it would feel to power through it, to push against the water in a race. It was good—she felt free, freer than she had in her clothes, freer than she had when her images were spread over the swimsuit magazine. When she came up for air, she was aware of Tachibana’s voice fading as he walked home, far away, ringing through the emptiness.

She didn’t want to picture his body. But with that voice, his image conjured in her mind—the gentle smile, the broad shoulders. With most men, Amakata didn’t know what was lying beneath their clothes. But she’d _seen_ him, had seen the tight muscles of his chest and his arms as he swam, gasping for air. The swimsuit left nothing to the imagination.

She slipped beneath the water again. Not men— _boys_.

Swimming became habit. She’d stay later and later, long after the team had gone. She’d swim slow laps, feeling the strain of her muscles. She found the most pleasure in the backstroke, for reasons she wouldn’t admit. She enjoyed floating on her back, staring at the stars as she stretched her arms behind her.

“Ama-chan?”

She flailed, splashing wildly as she stood upright. When she spotted Tachibana standing at poolside she immediately sank to her chin, staring up at his tall, imposing figure.

“You caught me,” she said, giggling, as she crossed her arms over her bare stomach.

“I—” He blinked, then looked away. “Sorry, I just forgot my phone. It’s right here, see?” As if he had to justify returning to the pool, _his_ pool, captain of the team.

Amakata had certainly noticed the cell phone sitting on the bench. She had vowed to take it after she was done swimming, to return it to him in the morning. It wasn’t unusual that she knew it was his—wouldn’t she recognize all their cell phones, all their belongings, after spending so much time with the team?

“I’m glad you found it,” she said, as he slipped the phone into his pocket. His pants sagged slightly under its weight.

“I didn’t know you could swim,” he said, as he sat at the pool’s edge. His eyes flickered beneath the water before meeting hers, and she wished she owned more one-piece suits. She longed to reach behind her back to tighten the strings of her top.

“N-not well,” she stammered, floating closer. “I never swam competitively. Just for fun, when I was a kid.”

Tachibana dipped his fingers into the pool. He had that distant look in his eyes, the one he tried to hide from Nanase. Had she said something wrong? Amakata inched backward, away from that hand he pulled from the water. Then, he smiled.

“I could teach you sometime, if you’d like. Though your form is pretty good.”

 _That’s just how he is_ , she thought, readily agreeing. Sacrificing himself for others. She was an adult, an advisor; he was offering his expertise in exchange for her willingness to help their club. When Amakata offered to drive him home, he was grateful. It was late; it was too far and too dark for him to walk.

“I’ll quickly get changed,” she said. Tachibana draped a towel over her shoulders when she climbed out of the pool, as if he didn’t want to risk seeing her exposed skin.

“Oh . . . Tachibana-san.” She pulled the towel tight around her; the night air was cold on her bare back. “Please keep this between us.”

He nodded. It was their first secret.

He was quiet on the ride home. She was conscious of the way he sat, the way his palms rested on his spread knees. Tachibana stared out the window, as if in awe of the distant lights and the crashing ocean waves. _What was it like growing up here?_ she wanted to ask. _How long have you been swimming?_ But she stared ahead, gripping the wheel as he provided directions.

“That’s me,” he said, pointing to a home at the bottom of a hill. There were still lights on, as if his parents were waiting up for him. He smiled, turning to her as he unbuckled his seat belt. “Thanks for the ride!”

He was true to his word. It wasn’t uncommon for the captain to discuss club business with the advisor, and the others found official business too boring to stick around for. Tachibana waited until the others left to slide back into the pool, staring at her expectedly as she peeled off her sundress.

Her one-piece suit was unflattering, she realized now, as she dived into the water.

“Let’s do a lap first,” Tachibana said, standing in the adjacent lane. “Then we’ll take things from there.”

She was overconscious of her form. It didn’t feel natural; she pushed too hard, knowing that he watched. He stood waist-deep in the water, hands on his hips, eyes following as she passed. She was already breathing heavy after one lap. He smiled, then ducked beneath the lane divider.

“Don’t be nervous,” Tachibana said with a chuckle. “You seemed more comfortable last time when you thought no one was here.”

“Well”—she hid a laugh behind her hand—“I’m not used to people watching.”

He instructed her to float, his hand splayed across her back as he pushed upward. Her back wasn’t straight when she swam; it slowed her down. It put too much effort on the rotation of her arms. He loosely held her arm, demonstrating the proper way to dip it back beneath the water.

“That makes more sense,” she said, staring at the starry sky rather than his face.

“How about we try it again?”

 _We_ , he always said, like it was a dual effort. Like she wasn’t the one gliding back and forth, sweating under the set of his gaze. He nodded when she looked over, seeking his approval. Long after their lesson had concluded, she still heard his praise: _Very nice! You’re a good swimmer, Ama-chan._

It was easy to forget that she was his teacher. She was reminded every morning as students filed in for homeroom, watching each of them take their seats. Tachibana glanced up from his seat in the back, but she wouldn’t return his smile as she called the class to attention. Her eyes flickered to Nanase instead, who was too busy daydreaming as he stared out the window.

“Tachibana-san,” she said, as they filed out for their next class. “Could we meet during lunch period to discuss the club’s finances?”

She _did_ have to discuss finances—Hazuki had spent far too much on uniforms—but as she sat at her desk in the empty classroom, pushing around the food in her bento, she felt the weight of the excuse.

 _This is inappropriate_ , she thought, as Tachibana entered the classroom. He closed the door without her having to ask. He carried his own bento, its carrying cloth knotted tight on top, the way a mother would. _His mother still makes his lunch_ , she thought, as he pulled a chair up to her desk.

The financial discussion lasted a mere five minutes. There was no reason for him to be there after they reviewed the budget, to be eating lunch with _her_ instead of his friends. But he fell into casual conversation, discussing other club matters—their practices; the upcoming tournaments; Ryugazaki’s impressive progress. She nodded along, swallowing her lunch down a dry throat.

“What about Nanase-san?” she asked, when there was a lull in conversation. “Is he all right?” She’d noticed the way he fidgeted at the Samezuka pool, the way they’d _all_ cast longing glances at Kou’s brother.

But Tachibana smiled. “He’s getting there,” he replied. “He’s happier now that he can swim again.”

“And you?” she added. “Are you happy?”

His surprise at her question could only mean that he hadn’t considered it—that he put the happiness of the others above his own, that he was pushing down some internal troubles for the sake of his team. He studied the piece of squid between his chopsticks, as if it could provide the answer.

“I’m swimming with my friends again,” he finally said, meeting her eyes. “I _am_ happy. And it’s good that we have a manager and an advisor who are as passionate as we are.”

 _Their secret._ The lessons hadn’t been mentioned outside the pool, outside the twilit sky behind Iwatobi High School. The memory of his touch and his closeness assaulted her; it was like his firm hand was still on her back, guiding her, his ripped abs peeking above the surface of the water.

“As the great Confucius once said, ‘The man who questions is a fool for a minute, but the man who does not question at all is a fool for life.’”

Tachibana furrowed his brows but then his expression softened, flushing slightly as he chewed his squid. “I’ve enjoyed our lessons, Ama-chan.”

_Please, call me Miho._

“Me too, Tachibana-san.”

_Makoto._

She was lost the evenings there was no swim practice. She sat in her apartment, grading papers. Tachibana’s essay sat on top of the stack, waiting for her final grade. Did she enjoy his words because he followed the assignment, or because she read between the lines? It wasn’t about swimming, but the metaphors were there—the desire, the fear, the need to satisfy others. Amakata stared at his messy handwriting, fingered each character of his name at the top of the page.

She jumped when the doorbell rang.

Tachibana was the last person she expected to be standing at her door. She fumbled over his name, backing away as she clutched at her fluttering heart. In his arms was a bouquet of lilies, which he thrust toward her.

“The team thought we should get something for you,” he said, as she carefully handled the flowers. “We thought it would be weird to give them to you at school, though. They volunteered me to deliver them.”

_Or had he volunteered himself?_

“Thank you,” she said, burying her nose in the flowers. “They’re lovely. Why don’t you come in? I was just making some tea.”

She stashed the essays into her schoolbag on their way to the kitchen. He eyed the stack, lifting an eyebrow when he saw his name on top.

 _It’s just tea_ , she thought, putting on the kettle. Tachibana sat at the table, taking in the room. Did she have anything on display that would give her away? There were no framed photographs, no clues that she was even a teacher. Though she’d resided at the apartment for nearly a year, it still didn’t feel like home.

Her hands shook as she set the tray on the table, pouring them each a cup of peppermint tea. Tachibana accepted it gratefully, lightly blowing over the cup’s lip to cool it. He looked good in his casual clothes, she decided, as she sat across from him. It was only a T-shirt but it fit him nicely, hugging his pecs and falling smoothly over his stomach. She blinked away the vision of his bare skin, of the way those muscles moved as he stretched before swimming.

“Is it too hot?” she asked, when his cheeks flushed. “Do you want some ice?”

No, no,” he said, waving a hand in refusal. “It’s fine. It’s really good.”

 _It’s only peppermint_ , she wanted to say, but he smiled as he tugged at his collar, briefly exposing his collarbone.

She shouldn’t have hugged him before he left. He held on too long, resting his head atop hers, allowing her to breathe in his scent. She pulled away hastily, waving goodbye before closing the door, watching from the window as he disappeared down the street.

She gave him a good score on his essay. What did it matter if she understood the underlying meaning behind his literary interpretation? As a teacher, it was her job to ensure they grasped the material. As a club advisor, she was permitted to know a little more about her students than most.

He shouldn’t have shown up at her apartment again. She shouldn’t have let him in.

She made tea again, and they talked. They talked about the club; they talked about Matsuoka Rin. She knew that Tachibana—that they all—were troubled by him. Amakata had no words of wisdom for lost friends, for the anguish he felt over Matsuoka’s severed line. They sat catty-cornered at the table, close enough that she didn’t have to reach to place a hand on his shoulder. It was intended as a brief gesture of comfort but he engulfed it with his, holding onto her small hand as he took shallow breaths. He hadn’t cried, not yet, but he grinded his teeth to force the pain away.

She should have pulled back when he held her hand to his face, staring at her with those kind, weary eyes. She should have protested when he moved it to his lips, kissing her palm.

But he instantly dropped her hand and scrambled backward. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She placed her hand on his cheek again, the kiss branded to her skin. She swiped a thumb across his lips—his full, soft lips—and he closed his eyes as he kissed it, then fell into her open arms.

Tachibana’s entire body shook as she held him, feeling his hard muscles as she stroked his back. “Makoto,” she whispered, stroking his hair. The name felt good on her lips—like a demon breaking free, the unspoken lust coming to fruition.

He was crying. His arms had clamped around her waist, sucking the breath from her. She looked around—at the television, on but muted; at her schoolbag, holding another batch of ungraded assignments; at the tea tray, cold and abandoned. Anywhere but at him. But his lips trailed up her neck, then kissed her jaw; his body trembled as his mouth landed on hers. She tasted the salt of his tears and the peppermint on his tongue. She smelled his clean skin, fresh from the locker room shower, the scent of soap and the residue of chlorine. She trailed her hands from his back around to his chest, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt.

 _I could lose my job_ , she thought, as his fingers twined through her hair.

It was a secret to add to their secrets.

She kept her face hidden during practice, shielding her eyes with her umbrella. An _advisor_ , one who advises. Not one who watches the team captain peel off his shirt, waiting to unveil the muscles beneath. Not one who studies his dolphin kick, fantasizing about other ways he could grind his hips.

They would meet afterward, though the lessons had stopped. She took a long time selecting a swimsuit to wear. She still had the body—he watched as she pulled off her shirt; she knew how well the suit hugged her figure. But he wouldn’t touch her until they were in the pool. Beneath the water, they were concealed. He’d stare into her eyes as he tickled the small of her back, giving her chills. She’d take his face in her hands, kiss his lips, then guide him to her throat, where he’d trail his mouth down to her cleavage. He’d slip a thumb beneath the fabric of her top, tracing the underside of her breast.

She’d drive him home afterward. Makoto would stare out the passenger’s side window, as if ashamed to look at her, but rested a hand on her knee. Once, he leaned over to kiss her cheek and said, “I can’t invite you in,” like she’d been expecting it. But she only nudged him out the door, toward his home, toward his waiting family.

 _Official swim club business_. That was why he came to her apartment so often after school, not so she could model swimsuits for him. He liked polka dots best; he liked the little strings at her hips that held the bikini together. He liked to play with the strings, threatening to untie the knot as she scampered away to put on another suit.

When he came for dinner, she wore only a sundress over a bikini. He stripped down to the barest of his school uniform, ripping off the tie as she set food on the table. He didn’t wear an undershirt; the top buttons of his shirt opened to reveal a hint of his breastbone. During dinner, as she reached across the table for a platter, she squeezed her breasts together and caught his eyes falling to her cleavage.

They hadn’t finished dinner before he moved to her side of the table, sliding both hands up her thighs to remove her dress. He traced the outline of her bikini top as she unclasped his belt. Makoto readily leaned back as she tugged off his trousers, revealing the bulge in his trunks.

She stopped. He was already panting, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as he gripped his thighs with shaking hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but he shook his head.

“I . . .” He gasped for air. “I’ve never . . .”

Amakata sat between his legs, tracing circles on his knee. “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to do anything.”

“Miho,” he said, testing her given name for the first time. His breathing steadied as he reached for the hand on his knee. “Miho. I— I want this.”

She didn’t think of the swim club as she peeled off his underwear. She didn’t think of the classroom as she slid a hand between his legs. She didn’t think of his most recent assignment, the one with another perfect score, as she tongued his erection. His body convulsed when she began to suck him. Makoto was bigger than she’d imagined—she’d had an idea, seeing him in that swimsuit—but he hardly fit in her mouth, and she worked the base with her hands. It didn’t matter—he was already gripping her shoulder, arching his spine. His hips jerked; he was trying to hold back. She stopped briefly only to say, “it’s okay,” before going down on him again.

“It’s . . .” He gasped. “ _Miho_. I’m going to . . .”

Makoto’s nails dug into her shoulder as he came, his cry echoing through the silent apartment. She continued to hold him as his body settled, resting her head on his abs. She felt his pulse steady, felt his muscles relax as he came off his high.

“Wow,” was all he said, and she giggled, kissing his stomach in reply.

It was too late to have him transferred from her homeroom. During class her fingers shook as she returned assignments, skittering past his desk as she lay another perfect essay upon it. She couldn’t ask another faculty member to oversee the swim club, either, without raising eyebrows. She had been so _dedicated_ , and she and Kou had worked so hard for their little club. Amakata didn’t want to let it go, either—she wanted the boys to succeed, and she wanted to be there when they won regionals. No one else would have her dedication, she told herself.

But then they were disqualified. The team didn’t seem bothered—it had something to do with Matsuoka, the boy from Samezuka’s team. It was difficult to reprimand them, difficult to scold them with Makoto standing so near, sweating slightly as he laughed off their disqualification. She relented too easily. The boys ran off in celebration and her chest hurt. They _were_ boys; they were in high school.

She was surprised when they all appeared in her classroom later that week, bearing a small gift. Makoto was the one to place it in her open hands, their hands brushing against each other.

“What is this for?” she asked, holding up the box.

“For being our advisor,” Makoto said with a little shrug. “For believing in us.”

It was dangerous, she knew, as she peeled back the wrapping paper. He stood too close; she smelled the familiar scent of his detergent. The gift was a small necklace, something the boys had pooled together their funds for. It was a dolphin charm, inlaid with diamond dust.

Makoto chuckled. “Nagisa always says Haru looks like a dolphin when he swims.”

“Put it on!” Hazuki insisted.

Makoto had been the one to drape it over her throat. Behind her neck they couldn’t see the way his fingers lingered, pretending to have trouble with the clasp. A chill ran down her spine when he touched her skin.

“Thank you, boys,” she whispered, touching the small charm.

He stayed over that night. She didn’t want to know the excuse he told his parents—his parents trusted him; they had no reason not to. He slept in her bed, gently touching her bare skin as if testing the waters. As she lay back Makoto straddled her hips, looking down at her with his gentle smile. There was a strain behind it, she knew, a nervousness that he tried not to reveal. She held his biceps as she kissed him and he settled his body down, gently, like he feared to crush her. Amakata _knew_ he was the same age as his classmates, those juvenile and wide-eyed children who packed into her classroom. But Makoto was different—he was more mature, she convinced herself. As his hand groped her breast she realized, _yes_ , he was a seventeen-year-old boy. He had boyish lusts and fixations. She guided his hand down her stomach as they kissed. She wasn’t built, like he was, but had maintained her figure. She wanted him to feel her toned stomach, wanted him to understand how similar they were, how much they cared for their bodies.

He broke away, cheeks flushed, hands quickly pulling away. “Sorry, I . . . I have to use the bathroom.”

She waited. The hallway light went on and she waited to see his shadow approach again, waited for his frame to fill her doorway. Amakata leaned into the mattress, touching her stomach like he was still there.

She had stored condoms in the bathroom. Not in clear view, where it was obvious, but hidden where he would find them if he searched. She couldn’t be certain when he’d discovered they were there. Was curiosity engrained in them all, that burning desire to learn lovers’ secrets in their medicine cabinets? But when Makoto returned with the contraband curled in a loose fist, his brow creased with panic, she forced a confident smile. _Yes, this is okay_ , it said, a sentiment betrayed by her pounding heart. She sat up, the blanket falling off her bare chest, as he slid into bed.

He couldn’t perform the first time. Of course he was scared—shadows on the walls and crashing waves scared him; she wasn’t surprised to feel his chest hammering as she rested a hand upon it. He was trying not to cry. She kissed his closed lids, praying the tears wouldn’t fall and remind her of his youth.

“Do you want to go home?” she asked.

He shook his head.

It had been many years since a man slept in her bed, curled against her side with his head on her chest. He fell into an easy sleep as she lightly kissed his forehead, as a mother would. Amakata stared at the moonlight stretched across the ceiling, thinking of the other swim club members, wondering if they, too, had their secrets.

It was easier the next time. He fumbled with the condom but she pushed his hands away, fitting it onto him herself. She stroked him slowly, holding on as he crawled on top of her, guiding him between her legs.

Each time he whispered her name she kissed him—on the lips, the cheek, the jaw—and it became a game. He said her name over and over, just so she’d continue to kiss him. It relaxed him; it made him comfortable. He hadn’t entered her, not yet, but his fingers trailed down, slipping between her legs to feel the moisture within. He hesitated when she whimpered but she shook her head, urging him to continue.

“Have you ever?” he asked, moving his fingers inside her.

She nodded, running her fingers along his jaw. “It’s been a long time.”

It _felt_ like the first time, when he entered her. She tensed, gripping his back as he pushed in farther, waiting for her to relax before he moved. Her last partner hadn’t fit. He was too short; he couldn’t reach deep inside her. But Makoto was _different_ ; he filled her, touching areas only her fingers had reached before. She grinded her hips and he slowly moved with her, groaning with each thrust. She forgot that this was his first time—he expertly moved his hips, the same way he’d kick beneath the water. She gripped him harder, his back slick with sweat, and he buried his face between her breasts as he came.

He knew that she hadn’t. She didn’t care about the orgasm, not yet—she only wanted to feel him inside her but he was spent, rolling over and discarding the condom with shaking hands.

His face was childish in the moonlight. She bit down on her lip and turned toward the wall. Makoto’s arm snaked around her, his firm chest pressed to her back. He softly cried, so she allowed herself to cry, too.

School was out. It was a relief to be done with her first year teaching, to get out of the confines of the classroom. Her friends told her that she should get away, but she made up excuses to remain in Iwatobi. “I just want to relax,” she said, or, “I don’t have the money to travel.” She would go down to the beach in a sundress, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, watching the families splash in the water. The Tachibana home wasn’t far, so she was unsurprised when Makoto came on the shore.

He wasn’t alone. He had two children with him—siblings, she assumed—and was followed by Nanase and that boy from Samezuka. Makoto fussed over the children as the other two ran for the water, disappearing beneath the waves before he even looked up. He waved when he spotted her, though, motioning for her to join them.

“Is this a good idea?” she whispered, lowering the brim of her sunhat.

“Of course!” He looked to the children. “Ren, Ran, this is my homeroom teacher, Ama-chan.” The twins shared half-hearted hellos. “These are my younger siblings.”

“Can we go in the water _now_?” the boy whined.

“Just stick together, okay? And watch out for Rin and Haru.” They ran for the ocean and Makoto spread out a towel, sighing as he sat upon it.

Though he stripped off his clothes, wearing only a swimsuit, Makoto made no motion to go in the ocean. He patted the towel and she accepted, sitting far enough away that their skin didn’t touch. But he briefly reached over anyway, stroking the small of her back before leaning back against the sand. She watched him from her peripheral vision, studying the way his abs rippled as he reclined. Amakata sat cross-legged, pushing the skirt down between her knees.

But she felt Makoto’s fingers at her back, tracing the grooves of her spine. She watched the ocean for his companions, but the twins were busy splashing each other and the older boys were far out of sight.

She should have stopped him. But she closed her eyes, feeling the sand shift as he sat up to rest his fingers on the back of her neck.

“This is reckless, Makoto,” she said, staring at the children. His hand dipped down, feeling for the strap of her bikini. Of course she had worn it. He smiled, playing with the tie beneath her dress.

“Will you be my homeroom teacher next year, too?” he asked, looking out at the water.

“Of course.” He slid closer, pushing down the shoulder of her dress to kiss the skin. “Makoto, _please_. Now is not the time.”

Rin was jogging toward them from across the beach. Makoto jumped to the other side of the towel, leaving her to pull up her collar as he approached. Rin cocked an eyebrow as he dug through the beach bag for a bottle of water.

“You remember Rin, right?” Makoto said. “Rin, this is Ama-chan, our club advisor.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, standing up. “Hey.” His eye flickered to Makoto as he guzzled the water, one hand on his hip. “You know, Makoto, you’ve gotta tell your sister to take it easy out there. All the young boys are going after her.”

“What?! I—”

“I’m kidding!” He laughed, dropping the bottle into the bag. “Come swim with us. The water’s great. It’s calm today, too.” He ran off before waiting for an answer.

She saw the way Makoto looked at her then—pleadingly, questioning her only with his eyes. He knew she wore the swimsuit, but he also knew her vow to never show it off. But she smiled, taking off her hat and shaking out her hair.

“Let’s go,” she said, pulling the sundress over her head.

He took her hand as they walked to the water, but there was nothing romantic in the gesture—he _gripped_ it, like she was his anchor. She allowed him to keep hold as they waded into the water; he hugged her arm when they were waist-deep.

Salty spray licked at her face and she closed her eyes, waiting for Makoto to wade in deeper. His fear was apparent; she wondered how she’d never noticed before. Amakata thought of the nights swimming in the pool, of staring up at the stars as she swam on her back. There was a freedom in the backstroke, keeping your face above the water. She pried his arms off and held his hand, walking farther into the ocean until they couldn’t stand anymore. The water _was_ calm, as Rin has promised; Makoto’s grip loosened. The twins were on the shore now, building a sand castle, and Haru and Rin were farther out racing each other. Makoto held her from behind as they floated, pressing his chest to her back as they watched the swimmers around them. A hand wandered down her stomach and into her bikini bottom.

 _“Makoto!”_  she hissed, grasping his wrist, but spread her legs as he slipped a finger between them.

He grinded his hips and even in the cool water, she felt him hard against her. She tried to keep an indifferent air as he pushed in farther. She was still amazed by his fingers, calloused like a grown man’s, weathered from hard work and physical labor. His thumb rubbed her clit and she bit back a moan, trying not to draw attention. His fingers quickened when she swelled, tightening around him. He pushed in deeper as her body shuddered in pleasure, pulling them both underwater to stifle her groans.

Makoto gasped when he resurfaced, holding on tight as he cried out. It wasn’t desire, it was _fear_.

“Makoto?” she said, trying to pry him off. “Makoto, are you all right?”

Haru was there in an instant. Makoto jumped away from her, taking shallow breaths as Haru grasped his shoulders. “Makoto, it’s okay. I’m here.”

“What’s going on?” Rin’s voice trailed behind as he swam up to them, gently placing a hand on Makoto’s back.

“What is it?” Amakata cried, wanting to reach for him, wanting to push his friends away and cradle his head in her arms.

“It’s fine,” Makoto said, catching his breath. “I’m okay.”

She guided him out of the ocean, ignoring the pulsing heat between her legs. He sat on the shore and she draped a towel around her shoulders, rubbing his back. “We’re okay now,” she whispered, kissing his temple. “I’m sorry.”

But his friends were jogging toward them, and she didn’t have a chance to stop Makoto before he turned and kissed her lips.

She jumped back. Both Haru and Rin stopped dead in their tracks, staring with their jaws hanging open.

“I have to go,” she said hurriedly, grabbing her dress.

“I don’t think so,” Rin said, slowly approaching. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Rin, no.” Haru grabbed his arm, but was watching Makoto hide his face in his knees. Instinct told her to comfort him, to stroke his face and kiss him and tell him everything would be all right. But it was a false sentiment. His friends were staring, and Makoto wouldn’t look up, and she could only shake her head as she pulled on her hat and ran.

Amakata had little desire to know the conversation. She didn’t call him; she made no move to communicate at all. She _did_ go away, taking a week-long vacation in Tokyo by herself. The bustle of the city cluttered her mind, pushing out thoughts of the boy. It had been a mistake, she knew; it had been a mistake from the start. She filled her belly with sweets, trying to fill the void in her chest. She still wore the dolphin necklace, a gift from the _team_ , not from him. She shuddered to recall when he’d put it on her.

A week wasn’t enough. The moment she returned home, she could only see visions of him in the apartment—at her table; on her couch; in her bed. As she sat on the floor, flipping through a week’s worth of mail, the doorbell rang.

She was surprised to see Makoto there, but maybe she shouldn’t have been. He was too pure, too caring, to leave things unsettled.

“May I come in?” he asked, hands in his pockets. He tried to lower his head, but it only meant that he stared down at her, meeting her eyes. She stepped aside to allow him entrance.

She didn’t want to know what he talked about with his friends, or the way they had pressured him to end it. She held up a hand as he started to explain. “This is my fault,” she said. “As the adult, I shouldn’t have let it go this far.”

“But . . .” He looked away, the same way Nanase did when he was being stubborn. “But we both wanted it to. I’m old enough to understand that.”

 _But you’re not_ , she wanted to say, staring at his downcast face. _You’re still a child. You have so much growing up to do_. “As the old proverb states, ‘one who chases after two hares won’t catch even one.’”

Makoto looked up. “Your inspirational quotes never make sense, Ama-chan.”

She flinched. Already, _Miho_ had been discarded. She was the old woman, the club advisor, the homeroom teacher.

Amakata sighed, resting a hand on his forearm. He didn’t pull away. “We can’t have everything, Makoto.”

But her touch was an invitation. She was engulfed in his embrace, pressed firm against his chest. His warmth was comforting and familiar. His head rested upon hers, his arms tight around her shoulders.

She shouldn’t have allowed him to stay. She should have gently pushed him away. But he picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom like a new bride. He set her on the bed to slowly undress her. She lay in her underwear as he sifted through the night table drawer, pulling out the open box of condoms. She delighted in tugging off his shirt, sighed in relief as her palms trailed down his bare chest.

It would end when the school year started, she decided, unfastening his belt.

**Author's Note:**

> ([Here](http://trapsandpecs.tumblr.com/post/70970007345) on tumblr.)


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